


Carved

by iamthemagicks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemagicks/pseuds/iamthemagicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aw, you're getting rid of it?" Lisa asks as she walks into the bathroom. Dean stands in front of the sink, staring in the mirror, water running, shaving cream in one hand, a razor in the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carved

"Aw, you're getting rid of it?" Lisa asks as she walks into the bathroom. Dean stands in front of the sink, staring in the mirror, water running, shaving cream in one hand, a razor in the other. 

He shrugs. She's hanging up fresh towels. He's had the beard a few months now, since arriving on her doorstep. "I dunno." He sets down the cream, looks over his shoulder at her opening and closing cabinets. She wears a blue silk robe and when she stretches to set something on top of the cabinet, the material pulls up, revealing the curve of her ass. No underwear. He puts down the razor. "You like it?" His voice is still gruff with sleep.

She stands behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She plants wet kisses along his shoulder, to his neck, biting down softly on the top knob of his spine. It sends a shiver, goosebumps rise all over his skin. She's warm, despite the coolness of the bathroom. "It certainly gives you that rugged look."

"I wasn't rugged before?" He raises an eyebrow, staring at her in the mirror.

She laughs, low and throaty. She mmms against his skin, raking her nails down his arms. When she comes in contact with the hand print burn on his right arm, she doesn't stop. She asked him once, and only once, how he could get a mark like that. And he told her, while holding her hand, kissing the tip of her nose, of being saved from being dead by an angel. But that was it and she didn't ask again. 

"I like however you look," she tells him, planting more kisses along his shoulders. She holds his hips, dipping her fingers under the waistband of his boxers. "But." She stands a bit on her toes to reach his ear, where she licks the lobe. "I have to say, I love the way it feels against my thighs." Her voice honeyed and sweet. Aroused. 

"Oh yeah?" He shuts off the water and turns around.

She shrugs. "Just sayin'." With lily-light steps, she walks out, into the bedroom. Blue walls and drapes, a tan carpet. Brown bedspread, photos on the wall. One of him and Ben sitting on her dresser.

At the bed, she unties the rope of the robe and lets it slip off her body, pool at her feet. Her lips just barely turn into a smile, curved at the corners, and her eyes smolder. 

 

"Jesus," he groans, the sight of her body familiar, but never, ever boring. Fuck. 

Ben's gone for the weekend. Three whole days and the house is theirs and Dean starts plotting where he's going to fuck her, where he's going pin her and bite her.

Like she's a goddess, Dean falls to his knees. Kisses along her stomach, the crease of her hip and leg. He leaves pink marks on her skin as he moves, bites. She rakes her fingers through his hair and he gets her to lie on the bed.

"You going to tease me?" She asks.

"Thought you liked a little tease." His tongue dipping down her bellybutton, teeth grazing on her thighs. 

Her hips arch towards his mouth, the beard, she runs a toe down his ribs, tugging at his boxers. "Not now." Her voice is heavy and he's got her spread wanton for him, but not touching her yet. "I've been thinking about this all morning."

And who is he to deny her? Beautiful woman spread out, wanting, needing him. 

And he devours her, ripe, like a peach. His tongue deep inside her folds, already wet for him, needing. She keens and moans, lifting her hips towards his face. He drags back a bit, to kiss at her thighs, the rub his cheek along her sweet skin, leaving scratchy pink marks.

"Dean," she breathes. "Come on, baby, no teasing. You can tease me all weekend."

He chuckles, but gets back to work, her long legs over his shoulders, his face buried against her cunt, licking, lips curling around her clit, fingers working inside of her. Sometimes he thinks he was meant for this; to be between her legs, inside of her. His body made for hers, and hers sculpted and formed just for him.

With Ben gone, Lisa unleashes a high pitched moan of his name, chanting it like a spell. He hasn't heard that sound in years, since their first weekend together, when her roommate was gone and she had no surrounding neighbors. 

He keeps licking at her until her thighs tremble, until she's panting and has to push him away with her hands, finally uncurled from his hair. "Jesus," she groans.

He's grinning stupid and proud of himself and she doesn't give him much other choice as she sits up slightly, pulls him down to her and she's kissing him. Sucking on his lips and tongue, taking the flavor of her own arousal and come right out of his mouth. 

Fuck that's hot. 

And he belongs here too, his body slotted against hers. He shimmies out of his boxers and thrusts inside of her, so hot and slick, like velvet, and fuck, he loves her so much. 

She urges him on by grabbing his ass, by biting his tongue and wrapping one leg around his waist. He comes inside of her, sloppy-warm, keeps haplessly thrusting until it's over; his skin calms and he can open his eyes again. 

Lazy-lust is still in her eyes, her pupils blow wide, her mouth dropped open a bit. She traces his lips and he kisses her fingertips. She scratches his chin. "Shower with me."

There's no sex here, as they stand in the shower, curled around one another, hot water splashing on their bodies. Soap between them and he kisses her neck, runs his hand over her stomach and hips. He breathes in the humid shower air, the scent of her body wash and shampoo. 

"I love you," she says, just over the sound of the rushing water. But she turns around, touches his beard again. Her eyes soft, her smile warm. Kisses him like it's nothing. Then she starts to wash his hair and they say nothing else. Just her fingers all over him, nails going over the scars.

His mouth isn't enough, his hands and tongue. None of it is enough for her, good enough for her. Then she's laughing, because his beard is tickling her neck. "Keep it just a little longer, please?" She runs her nails along his cheeks and chin. 

He nods, and thinks there's no place else he'd rather be, than in this shower for the rest of his life.


End file.
